


Cat Got Your Tongue?

by thegrimmgrimm



Series: Catspotting [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (very light), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Julian Alfred Pankrantz is an incurable tease, Knifeplay, M/M, Major Character Injury, Part 2: Shameless Smut, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, enemies to lovers speedrun, gratuitous homoerotic fight scene, more like rivals to lovers, references to past torture, this bad boy can fit so many tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimmgrimm/pseuds/thegrimmgrimm
Summary: "What are you doing here, Jaskier?" Geralt watches as he brushes past, not quite close enough that Geralt has to lean away to avoid contact, and hovers opposite the fire.Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and gives Geralt a wicked grin. "Well, would you believe it, Geralt? I'm here to kill a monster."Geralt gives a half-hearted glare to the sardonic response and tries to ignore the itch in his fingers to reach for a blade, his sword currently resting mere inches from him."No, what are you doing here?" In this wood, in this clearing.Jaskier's smirk turns sharp, lips curling away from sharp teeth, and golden eyes glinting in the low light. "I should have thought that was obvious."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Catspotting [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942627
Comments: 35
Kudos: 471





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a lil something something inspired by another [post ](https://thegrimmgrimm.tumblr.com/post/627615184279764992/north-peach-sushinfood-tuvs00/) on tumblr and got away from me a little (who'd have guessed?) 
> 
> Enjoy 😘

It's near impossible to sneak up on a Witcher. Those that try are generally extremely dangerous, or extremely foolish. Whoever is trying to sneak up on Geralt at the present moment, so far as the Witcher can tell, is only one of these two things. Though, Geralt has yet to fully decipher which of the two.

Not being Geralt's first run in with this particular interloper, it doesn't take long for him to recognise their movements. He debates for a moment letting the intruder catch him "unawares" but decides that it would be inevitably more satisfying to watch them skulk into the clearing, dejected and contrite.

"This didn't work the last time you attempted it, _Tojad_ , why would you think to try it a second time?" Geralt calls out into the woods. He hears a muffled curse in return and a fleeting smirk passes across his face as he leans in to toss more wood on his small fire.

"Oh, omniscient _White Wolf,_ I'll have to keep that in mind for next time." Though the newcomer's tone is jovial and teasing, Geralt can hear the true frustration underneath. Geralt looks over his shoulder at the man slinking his way into the firelight.

The Cat School Witcher looks much the same as from their last encounter. His dark, chin-length hair still falls in front of wide amber eyes, catching and tangling in the closely cropped beard in a way that just _has_ to be irritating. Twin swords sit at his back, curving over each shoulder, deadly as ever. A dagger at one hip, and a small satchel at the other.

Much like Geralt, every inch of skin from the neck down is covered by thick fabric or hard brown leather. It looks like the armour has actually seen some upgrades recently. New, heavier buckles and straps have replaced the old, worn thin from use and abuse. Geralt supposes it must have been a successful season for him.

"What are you doing here, Jaskier?" Geralt watches as he brushes past, not quite close enough that Geralt has to lean away to avoid contact, and hovers opposite the fire.

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and gives Geralt a wicked grin. "Well, would you believe it, Geralt? I'm here to kill a monster."

Geralt gives a half-hearted glare to the sardonic response and tries to ignore the itch in his fingers to reach for a blade, his sword currently resting mere inches from him.

"No, what are you doing _here?_ " In this wood, in this clearing. 

Jaskier's smirk turns sharp, lips curling away from sharp teeth, and golden eyes glinting in the low light. "I should have thought that was obvious."

The challenge in his tone gives Geralt a fraction of a second to prepare. In an instant Jaskier has his dagger in hand and launches himself across the space at Geralt. Knowing it would be futile to try and wield his sword in such close quarters, Geralt instead takes a biting grip on Jaskier's wrist.

The pain of the hold seems to only make Jaskier's grin grow wider, more feral. Knowing he doesn't have the upper hand in strength, the Cat twists, kicks, and scratches at Geralt, landing a hard elbow to his cheekbone that will surely leave an impressive shiner.

Geralt keeps his hold on Jaskier's wrist as he struggles, and attempts to wrench it such that he drops the weapon. Geralt's other hand scrambles for purchase in Jaskier's armour, hoping that with a good handful he might be able to toss him off.

He half succeeds and sends the blade tumbling to the ground, narrowly missing Geralt's ear on its way down. He also manages to throw Jaskier's weight off to the side, and the movement pulls Geralt over after him, pinning Jaskier to the hard dirt and winding him for precious moments.

Geralt rolls away smoothly and picks up the fallen dagger, crouching slightly in wait for the Cat's next move. Jaskier is also quick to recover, jumping to his feet and pulling a second blade from his boot, smile gone, eyes narrowed in concentration.

They both watch each other with sharp eyes, as still as the trees around them, waiting, and Geralt weighs his options. Jaskier now stands between him and his swords, his horse, and still armed to the teeth, while Geralt holds only a dagger. Not ideal, but at least he's still wearing all of his armour.

Jaskier moves quickly, in almost the blink of an eye, kicking a cloud of ash and coals towards Geralt's face. His arm comes up to shield his eyes just in time, but then Jaskier is back in his space, wicked blade carving a shallow slice across the softer leather protecting Geralt's inner thigh. Though it doesn't cut through the pants, Geralt can feel the blow as it scores up the inside of his leg.

He twists away quickly, reaching so that his blade, or at least his vambrace, comes between him and Jaskier's next blow. The two daggers meet with a clash, and the spark has returned to Jaskier's eyes as he bears down with a series of rapid-fire slashes and stabs, only barely avoided by quick parries and dodging from Geralt.

Frustrated at being on the defence, Geralt make a grab for Jaskier's wrist again. Once he’s found a firm grip, he slams his shoulder into the other Witcher's torso, keeping a sure hold as Jaskier stumbles. With his other hand Geralt brings his blade across the weaker armour at Jaskier's shoulder, cutting clean through the strap and gambeson beneath.

The new give in the armour allows Jaskier's arm to twist into an unnatural angle, and a sickening crunch and pained groan tell Geralt the fight is won. He releases Jaskier and steps back, allowing him to drop to his knees and take in panting, pained breaths. Geralt swipes the second dagger from where it's fallen from Jaskier's now limp hand.

"Are you done?" Geralt rumbles, seeing the hurt and anger pulling together the other Witcher's brow in a deeply frustrated frown.

Jaskier glares up at him fiercely, not to be cowed, but he nods once and sits back onto his feet with a hiss. "You fucker, I just had this armour fixed."

Geralt huffs out a laugh. "Then you shouldn't go starting fights you won't win."

Jaskier glares again, but there's less bite to it. "One day you'll get cocky, old man, then I'll have you."

"So you say," Geralt teases, but decides to leave off further insult, seeing Jaskier poking at his injured shoulder, wincing pitifully. "You want me to help you with that? We should re-set it quickly."

Jaskier tries to shrug, and regrets it, letting out another pained groan which makes Geralt laugh again. "Fine! Fine you bastard, help me."

Geralt tosses both daggers away, out of reach for the both of them, and approaches the injured Witcher with less caution than he probably should. "Promise not to bite my fingers off," He warns as he reaches for the limp limb.

Jaskier grits his teeth and his good arm comes up to grip at Geralt's elbow, steadying himself as Geralt slowly starts to shift the joint back into place.

As he works, Geralt's eye is caught by sight of pale skin beneath the shredded armour. Like his own, the surface is mottled and marred with scars upon scars, but something about them stands out in his mind. Jaskier has his eyes tightly shut against the sensation in his arm, so he doesn't catch Geralt's intense scrutiny of his ruined skin.

Geralt's mind races behind the steady, stoic movement of his hands. Something sick settles in his stomach as Jaskier's arm is righted. With an uncharacteristically soft touch, Geralt takes Jaskier's good hand from his elbow and moves him to hold his own wrist against his chest while he searches in his supplies for a scrap of cloth to fashion a sling.

"Geralt?" Jaskier, now in a touch less pain, must have noticed Geralt's change in mood.

Geralt says nothing, hands clenching around the length of clean linen he's managed to find. He takes a breath to settle himself before turning back to the Witcher kneeling in the dirt by the firelight.

Jaskier is also uncharacteristically quiet, watching him approach with curious and concerned eyes. "What's gotten into you? Usually a good fight makes you _less_ taciturn."

Geralt hums and looks away from those inquisitive eyes, whist also fighting to keep his gaze from returning to the bare skin of Jaskier's shoulder. To distract himself from the gnawing in his insides, Geralt turns to the logistics.

"Do you want to remove your armour before I immobilise the arm, or are you happy to sleep in it?"

Jaskier seems almost startled by the question and he chews on his lower lip, brows drawn together in thought. Geralt understands his apprehension, just moments ago they'd held a blade to each other, and now Geralt was asking Jaskier to make himself completely vulnerable in his presence.

Several expressions cross Jaskier's face in the space of a heartbeat, and Geralt doesn't even attempt to interpret them. Jaskier sighs, "I'll need it off for repairs anyway, might as well get it over with now.”

Geralt nods absently and gives Jaskier the linen to hold as he carefully starts to unbuckle the swords strapped across his back. His fingers feel stiff, and he feels strangely scrutinised as Jaskier watches him work, unable to provide much assistance. Geralt tries to keep any jarring movements to a minimum, but each gasp and wince from Jaskier tells him he could probably be doing better.

Jaskier lets out another pained sound as Geralt has to shift his arm to slide off the damaged shoulder piece, and he does feel a little guilty at causing such an immobilising injury. The being said, Witcher healing will probably have a good range of movement back by morning, but for a little pain, so the Cat will just have to survive until then. Geralt replaces Jaskier’s hold on his wrist once again, and together they manoeuvre off the second spaulder and leather breastplate as best they can between them.

The torn gambeson falls open wider at Jaskier’s shoulder without the armour holding it in place, and as Geralt suspected, the intense map of scars continues further beneath. Without thinking, he brushes his fingers along the shallow cut left by his blade, the streak of blood already drying, and the collection of old scars alongside it. At the touch, Jaskier finally notices the focus of Geralt’s attention.

Geralt can see from the corner of his eye as Jaskier’s jaw clenches, and he catches the sharp hiss as his muscles unconsciously tighten. Geralt meets his gaze and holds it steadily, taking in the pain, old and new, as well as the stubbornness that he sees there.

"Geralt-" Jaskier starts, tone cautioning, but Geralt cuts him off before he can continue.

"Who did this to you?" When Geralt speaks his voice is quiet and tense. He’s finally found a name for the feeling deep in his gut, the web of scars dancing across his mind's eye even as he looks into matching gold. Rage.

Geralt’s hand hovers over the clasp at Jaskier’s neck, not sure if either of them is quite ready for Geralt to see what lies beneath. Almost defiantly, Jaskier’s free hand comes up and releases the first buckle with an impatient yank, working quickly down the front until the garment hangs open.

Though hidden slightly under dark hair, it's impossible to miss the horrible extent of the countless interlacing marks. Before Geralt can stop himself, he's mapping them out with his eyes, noting the neat, careful lines interspersed with crudely carved words. _Mutant. Freak. Monster. Butcher._ Words Geralt knows well. He swallows roughly at the sight.

"No monster made those." Geralt's voice is as cold as ice, as sharp as the daggers now lying in the dirt. "Who did this?"

Jaskier's amber eyes are narrowed in annoyance, and something darker, when they once again meet Geralt's. "What does it matter? They're all just scars." Geralt thinks its flippancy he’s aiming for, but the steel in his voice betrays his unease.

"I know that's not true."

Jaskier huffs out an angry breath and tugs impatiently at his sleeve, clearly causing himself pain in the process. He gives up with a cry of frustration. "Will you just help me out of this godforsaken thing?"

Though Geralt has no interest in letting him just brush away the topic of conversation, he still moves quickly to help Jaskier carefully extract himself from the heavy garment. The weather is mild, but with his torso bare to the night air, Jaskier can't hold off a slight shiver.

Geralt curses and returns to his things to search for a spare shirt to lend Jaskier. Perhaps next time his unexpected guest could turn up with more than just his swords and an attitude. Thankfully Geralt is able to find an aging black undershirt to offer up.

Standing in front of Jaskier, something in the Witcher's expression calls out to Geralt. Jaskier's clutching the gambeson in his lap like a lifeline, picking aggressively at the cut in the fabric. Geralt kneels before him, once again level with those amber eyes, both of them searching for somehthing. What Jaskier sees in his Geralt can't rightly say, but whatever it is must inspire some confidence, or sincerity.

"Let's just say, not everyone appreciates a Witcher getting involved in local politics and leave it at that." Jaskier is working hard to keep his voice steady, Geralt knows, but he can't keep the stricken look from his eyes. "Why do you _care_ , Geralt?"

" _Jaskier_ ," It takes nothing at all for Geralt to lean forward and catch the desperate words with a kiss. Many times, Geralt has imagined his first chance to kiss Jaskier. More often than not, he pictures a fierce, heated kiss in the middle of one of their impromptu sparring bouts. But this, this is nothing like that.

This kiss is soft, and warm, and short. Barely the length of a heartbeat.

"I care about _you_ ," Geralt confesses, sitting back to watch the expressions evolve on Jaskier's face.

"Oh," Jaskier says, looking dazed, and all the ugly feelings curling in Geralt's chest float away like smoke at the sight of the little crease between his eyebrows.

Something else is building in Geralt's belly that makes him feel like laughing, but he settles for a small smirk as he holds up the forgotten shirt. Jaskier _does_ laugh and Geralt wants to chase it with another kiss, but he's painfully aware of sitting in full armour before the half-dressed Witcher.

Jaskier allows Geralt to help him into the shirt and set the injured arm as comfortably as possible across his chest, both of them silent from a new kind of tension as Geralt works. He binds the limb snugly against Jaskier's collarbone and ties off the cloth neatly where Jaskier can undo it himself quickly and easily when necessary.

Jaskier stretches, testing a few movements, and nods to himself and turns back to Geralt, evidently happy that it's stable and comfortable. His new expression sends a small thrill through Geralt, a shy smile, but almost as wicked as the last time he threw himself at the stoic Witcher.

His free hand goes straight to Geralt's hair to pull him forward into another kiss. Just as sweet as the first, but with all the fierceness Geralt has been expecting and anticipating. Geralt makes a sound low in his throat and his hands come up to cup Jaskier's face, sliding along his jaw and into his hair, beard both soft and rough beneath his fingertips and against his mouth.

Jaskier _whines_ when Geralt pulls away, and _gods_ if that doesn't make it hard not to just fall back into him and never stop, but Geralt has no intention to rush this. He also has a feeling neither of them will be particularly inclined to be _careful_ if things go much further.

"You need to heal," Geralt murmurs, resting his forehead against Jaskier's as they both catch their breath.

Jaskier gives a breathy chuckle in response. "Spoilsport."

The two unentangle themselves and help each other back to their feet, not straying far from each other's touch. Jaskier steps away for a moment to let out a piercing whistle that leaves Geralt's ears ringing, even as he hears the steady beats of Jaskier's approaching horse.

"Oh, so you _didn't_ need to steal my clothes," Geralt teases.

Jaskier smiles not-quite-innocently at him. "Much more fun this way, though."

As Jaskier collects his things from his horse, a stocky grey mare, Geralt eases himself out of his own armour, not feeling quite as vulnerable as the occasion probably calls for. When he's done, he turns to see Jaskier laying out his bedroll beside his own and Geralt watches him with a soft smile that he will absolutely deny if caught.

"Are you going to stand around all night?" Jaskier asks as he lays out on his back and looks up at him.

Geralt huffs out a laugh and settles down beside him, just out of reach. Jaskier rolls onto his side to face him, his good arm up under him, propping up his chin. Though Geralt internally kicks himself for being so sappy, he can't help noticing the way the firelight dances in Jaskier's golden eyes, and wonders if Jaskier sees the same in his own.

Jaskier leans in closer, reaching over to touch Geralt's face, fingers dancing across his cheekbone. "I care about you too," He whispers, and his fingers brush through Geralt's hair so softly it pulls the air from his lungs.

Geralt rushes forward to meet him in another kiss, the steady pump of his heart a constant reminder of the sensation threatening to burst in his chest. He loops an arm around Jaskier's waist and pulls himself in close, aching at the warmth beneath his touch.

This time its Jaskier who pulls himself away, leaving Geralt bereft. "As you said, I need to heal," He recites, and Geralt lets out a frustrated groan. Jaskier just chuckles and settles down into the bedding. He lets Geralt pull himself in closer and get comfortable wrapped around him.

Somewhat reluctantly, Geralt lets his eyes close, and he listens to the sounds of Jaskier's soft breathing and steady heartbeat. After what feels like an age, but also no time at all, Geralt finds himself drifting into an easy, comfortable sleep. 

* * *

When Geralt wakes the next morning, it’s to the feeling of a warm weight above him, and a sharp blade at his throat. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Geralt wakes the next morning, it’s to the feeling of a warm weight above him, and a sharp blade at his throat.
> 
> He cracks his eyes open to the sight of a familiar grin hovering above him and raises an eyebrow in question, only half-wondering if he should be concerned.
> 
> "What did I tell you, kocimiętka?" Jaskier leans forward, and his smirking face nuzzles into the side of Geralt's neck with almost a purr. "Cocky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew!! so i actually wrote that filthy follow-up i teased at when i posted this, and to absolutely no one's surprise, it took me /forever/ - obviously, rating has been upgraded to E to reflect this
> 
> Thanks so much to Fushicho for making sure this was actually in any way coherent 💖💖
> 
> I have tagged for knifeplay but it is /very/ light, and only in the paragraph starting "Jaskier scowls" (though the knife is still there leading up to that point) - please let me know if I need to describe better?
> 
> Please enjoy some absolutely shameless smut!

_When Geralt wakes the next morning, it’s to the feeling of a warm weight above him, and a sharp blade at his throat._

He cracks his eyes open to the sight of a familiar grin hovering above him and raises an eyebrow in question, only half-wondering if he should be concerned.

"What did I tell you, _kocimiętka_?" Jaskier leans forward, and his smirking face nuzzles into the side of Geralt's neck with almost a purr. "Cocky."

Geralt’s answering growl comes from low in his chest, and he grips hard at Jaskier's thighs where they straddle his waist. Jaskier leans back again to look him in the eye, his grin sharp and wide and his own eyes dark and mischievous in the growing light of dawn.

Geralt could easily roll them over and reverse the position, but he's reluctant to do so with Jaskier's shoulder as it is, and he knows they're both aware of this. So instead, Geralt slides his hands up and around Jaskier’s firm, slender waist, and leans up to meet the Cat in a kiss, as slow as their last, and almost as sweet.

The dagger is still cold against the skin of his throat as Geralt pulls away and leans back into the bedroll. Geralt can tell that Jaskier’s grip has loosened by the barest of fractions, and he feels, and probably looks, a little smug at the starry-eyed expression Jaskier now wears.

Geralt knows he should be taking the advantage of the opportunity to gain the upper hand, but he just finds himself smirking up at Jaskier and teasing, “Are you going to do something with that, _tojad,_ or just hold it there?”

Jaskier scowls, but Geralt can still see the mirth tugging at the corners of his eyes, his mouth. Geralt wants to reach up and put his mouth to each and every point, but he just watches, and waits. Light as a feather, Jaskier traces the dagger down the hollow of Geralt’s throat and across his collar bone, watching Geralt’s pupils blow wide and his throat bob as he swallows thickly.

Rather than pressing further, Jaskier just smirks to himself and tosses the weapon to the side, instead grasping firmly at Geralt’s shirt collar with both hands and surging forward into a crushing kiss. Geralt’s hands still grip firmly at Jaskier’s slim waist, and he loosens them for a moment, only long enough to slide them up and under Jaskier’s, _his own,_ shirt.

Geralt’s rough fingertips thread hesitantly through soft hair and catch against the scarred skin, but Jaskier’s only reaction is a small shudder and a pleased groan, so Geralt continues. Jaskier shifts his arms as if to let Geralt shift the garment up and over his head, but Geralt stops him.

“ _No_ ,” He says, voice more growl than word, dropping his head into Jaskier’s shoulder to take a deep inhale of his own scent against Jaskier’s skin. “Leave it on.”

Jaskier lets out a whine almost identical to the one Geralt had heard from him the night before, and his tugging at Geralt’s collar becomes insistent, and purposeful. Geralt drops his arms and leans up slightly to allow Jaskier to yank off his shirt and toss it off to the side, and barely spares a passing thought to be thankful that he doesn’t hear it tear.

Jaskier takes a moment to just _look,_ and Geralt his certain that his own expression mirrors the look of utter wanting that Jaskier wears. His fingertips trace lightly, almost _reverently_ across the expanse of Geralt’s own scar-mapped chest, and Geralt can’t resist a shiver at the sensation.

When it looks as if Jaskier might keep on just _sitting_ and _looking_ , Geralt draws up to meet him, pressing forward until he’s sitting upright with Jaskier’s thighs spread wide across his lap. Every point where they press flush against each other is searing hot and overwhelming, and both of them groan at the sensation. They catch each other in another fierce kiss and Geralt’s hands slip back up under the shirt, and up the rippling planes of the muscles of Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier’s own hands are everywhere, frantic, his bruising grip clutching at anything he can reach – Geralt’s shoulders, his sides, all over his chest. He eventually settles himself, pulling away to breathe into Geralt’s neck for just a moment before his hands fall to Geralt’s chest to push him firmly back to the ground.

In a manner that only Jaskier could ever hope to manage, he falls upon Geralt’s chest with an expression equal parts feral and tender, laving each and every mark, every freckle, every scar, with a white-hot beacon of attention. Jaskier’s fingertips, lips, tongue, and _teeth_ find every point of sensation, teasing and caressing each of them like the strings of a troubadour’s lute, playing Geralt just the same.

When Jaskier’s mouth finally meets Geralt’s nipple, Geralt should be embarrassed by the wanton moan it pulls from him, but when Jaskier echoes it against his damp skin, he can’t seem to find the resolve. From this position he’s not sure what to do with his hands, so he lets them fall to his sides, gripping tightly into the bedroll beneath him and quite literally grounding himself.

Jaskier shifts slightly above him, and again those golden eyes meet his own. One hand takes Geralt’s other nipple between rough fingertips as the other drifts down across the shivering muscles of Geralt’s abdomen and lower still, until Geralt feels the barest of contact at the laces of his trousers.

For the first time Jaskier’s touch is tentative, unsure, and his gaze is imploring. Geralt lets out something between a desperate moan and a fierce growl as he eagerly rocks his hips up into the light contact, managing to feel surprisingly unselfconscious about it as he does. Emboldened, Jaskier flattens his hand and palms shamelessly across the bulge in Geralt’s pants, siting back slightly to watch as Geralt writhes beneath him and stuttering out something of an awed gasp, before reeling back in to hastily unlace the front of Geralt’s trousers.

“ _Jaskier.”_ The first touch of sword-calloused fingers against Geralt’s aching prick has him wheezing out the Cat Witcher’s name, and Jaskier’s eyes meet his and widen at the sound of it, which has Geralt realising it the first word either of them has spoken in quite some time.

“ _Fuck,_ Geralt.” Jaskier bites out in response, and it’s as if a dam has been released. “Do you have any _idea_ what you do to me? Looking like that, _sounding_ like that?” He cuts off with another groan, forehead dropping to rest on Geralt’s hip as his fingers work along Geralt’s cock.

Geralt supresses another whine as Jaskier’s hand drifts from his cock to push his trousers and small-clothes all the way down and off of his legs. Jaskier sucks in a short breath at the sight of Geralt finally completely naked beneath him, even as Jaskier hovers above him still mostly clothed. Geralt’s now fully hard cock is completely exposed to the night air, and Jaskier all but growls as he falls upon it.

Jaskier takes the leaking head into his mouth and tongues at the slit, just tasting and feeling Geralt between swollen lips. The hot, wet feeling punches a sound out of Geralt’s throat that he has no name for, and he has to fight not to push further up into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier doesn’t dwell long, all too soon pulling off Geralt’s cock with a final lick and a moan.

“And the way that you _taste._ ” Jaskier’s voice is rough, his breathing heavy and his eyes heavy lidded. “ _Gods_ , I could dine happily for the rest of my life on the taste of you alone.”

The sounds that Geralt makes as Jaskier runs his hands up the insides of his thighs is decidedly _not_ a sob, but he _might_ admit that it’s something close-to. His hands finally unclench from their death-grip on the bedroll, and instead fist in the collar of Jaskier’s shirt. Geralt hauls the other Witcher back up to catch him in a desperate kiss, his own tongue licking in to taste himself on Jaskier’s.

Jaskier is smirking when Geralt finally lets him pull away for air, and Geralt isn’t sure whether it’s because he’s amused at Geralt’s desperation, or at his own. He nuzzles back into the crook of Geralt’s neck and Geralt feels more than hears him murmur against his skin, “So, how do you want this, _kocimiętka?_ ”

Geralt threads his fingers through Jaskier’s dark hair and takes a moment to think, not easy over the hard pounding of both of their hearts. Light and birdsong is starting to filter in through the trees as the sun makes itself known in the east, but Geralt barely notices it with sensation of Jaskier’s teeth nipping at the skin of his throat and stealing all his focus.

“I-” Geralt chokes out, shuddering slightly as Jaskier’s deft fingers find their way back around Geralt’s cock and strokes lightly, teasingly. He resists the urge to shake his head to clear his thoughts as Jaskier mouths down his collarbone again.

“Would you like to have me, Geralt?” Jaskier asks coyly, blinking up through his eyelashes at him, wicked mischief written plain in his amber eyes. “You have such a lovely cock, I should quite like to ride it until I have you singing my name.”

Geralt groans and tugs slightly at Jaskier’s hair, earning him a chuckle and a thoughtful hum.

Fingers tickle down the inside of Geralt’s thigh and he doesn’t have anywhere near the presence of mind to feel self-conscious about the way the muscle quivers under Jaskier’s touch. “Or, perhaps you’d prefer I had you. I’m sure you would look absolutely exquisite all spread for me, hm?”

Geralt doesn’t even try to hide the full body shudder that these words produce, hands moving to fist in the fabric of the shirt between them, to save from yanking violently at Jaskier hair.

Geralt hears the grin in the words that follow this revelation. “I could always just continue like this, just enjoying the feel of you, the look of you, until you _beg me_ for something more.”

Now, what Geralt _means_ to do is growl menacingly at the threat, but what comes out is more of a desperate whine as his hips rock up into Jaskier’s palm, craving more just as the Cat predicts. His hand still working infuriatingly steadily, Jaskier pulls back just enough to watch for the moment Geralt gives in to his teasing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt hisses out, practically panting at the titillating pleasure. “Fuck, _please._ Have me. Fuck me, _Jaskier_ , _please._ ”

Jaskier’s hand stutters and stalls as he gives a shudder of his own and with a moan so low in his chest it comes out as a growl, he captures Geralt’s mouth in another hard, searing kiss. “ _Shit_. Where did I-” He pulls away to fumble around beside his bedroll, eventually producing a small vial he must have stashed either before the two of them had gone to sleep, or before he ambushed Geralt when he awoke.

“Awfully sure of yourself there, _tojad_ ,” Geralt teases, only a little breathless. “Expecting something, were you?”

“Hoping, certainly.” Jaskier’s toothy grin is in no way shy or bashful, and he makes a show of taking the cork between his teeth to unstopper the vial. He pours the slick oil into his palm, letting it drip down the length of his fingers and onto Geralt’s taut abdomen, watching the muscles twitch with dark eyes.

His hand pushes softly at Geralt’s thigh, the oil like velvet caress against his skin as he folds his knee up and shifts to cant his hips upwards towards Jaskier’s fingers. Jaskier makes a soft sound at the sight and leans back up for a tender kiss as he finds the sensitive skin of Geralt’s perineum.

Geralt sucks in a breath and bites at Jaskier’s bottom lip, arching into the touch. Jaskier’s fingers trace back until they’re pressing gently at his entrance, only barely more hesitant than teasing. Geralt winds one arm around Jaskier’s waist and twines the other in his hair and he starts to press back into Jaskier’s touch.

Jaskier is gentle, and slow, and torturous. His fingers press just barely in and retreat again to tease the rim, leaving Geralt trembling and desperate. “ _Jaskier_ ,” He growls out, definitely as a demand and not a _plea._

Jaskier chuckles and acquiesces, stealing all the air from of Geralt’s lungs with another kiss, and the slow press in of two slicked fingers. Geralt can scarcely catch his breath before Jaskier is moving within him, first a steady drag in and out, to familiarise the both of them with the sensation, and then more purposeful, reaching, searching.

Jaskier pulls back to watch Geralt see stars as his fingers meets their mark, but in place of his smug smirk is a look of awe, and hunger. He remains surprisingly methodical, and merciful, as he works Geralt open, seemingly too impatient to bother with more teasing.

“ _Fuck,_ Geralt _,_ _look_ at you.” Jaskier groans as he adds a third finger, easing his pace slightly as he does. Geralt pulls Jaskier in closer as his arms automatically tighten around him, holding back a low whine, and Jaskier sucks an angry mark into his throat.

As the building pressure of sensation threatens to overwhelm him, Geralt pulls insistently at the fabric of the shirt between them, suddenly feeling bereft of the skin to skin contact. Jaskier hesitates for a short moment, but whatever he sees in Geralt’s expression soothes his apprehension. He moves away to sit up and pull the shirt off over his head and Geralt’s hands hasten to unlace the front of his trousers, only slightly fumbling.

Jaskier sits on his heels, his chest bare and head thrown back as Geralt pushes open the leather pants and gets his hand around Jaskier’s cock, hard and hot in his palm. Geralt brings his free hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck, pulling him down slowly to kiss the trepidation from his lips. Geralt’s hand works slowly along Jaskier’s length and he leaves a trail of biting kisses down his neck. Jaskier’s fingers push back into him, and both let out a moan as he bites into the meat of Jaskier’s shoulder in retaliation.

“Alright, alright,” Jaskier bats away Geralt’s hand as his breath starts to hitch, and he withdraws enough to pour more oil into his palm and slick his cock with a few light strokes. Jaskier shifts between Geralt’s parted thighs, nudging them wider as he leans closer and licks a long stripe up Geralt’s torso, navel to nape, salty with sweat.

Jaskier’s pressed into the cleft of Geralt’s ass, sliding across slick, loosened muscle with a couple of lazy thrusts before the head of his cock pushes in with a slow roll of his hips.

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt all but whines, infuriated, thighs clenching around Jaskier’s hips, and his own hips shifting up to push back onto him. Jaskier just smiles sweetly down at him and rolls his hips again, sliding further in torturously slowly.

When Jaskier bottoms out, the smile drops from his face and he lets out an almost pained moan. Geralt can empathise. His legs wrap around the lithe Witcher’s waist and he grips at Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him into a breathless kiss. When they part again, Geralt takes a stuttering inhale and Jaskier shifts again, pulling almost completely out of Geralt before thrusting back in with one smooth, steady motion that punches the air from Geralt’s lungs.

Jaskier laughs breathily at the choked sound he makes, and draws back to do it again, just to see the look on Geralt’s face. “ _Gods_ , you’re gorgeous, wolf.”

Geralt _growls_ at the sensation, and grinds his hips back into him, trying to encourage, or perhaps threaten, some semblance of _rhythm._ Jaskier’s laugher is full and clear as he obliges, thrusting into Geralt with a pace could only be described as _playful_.

“Will you stop fucking around and _fuck me,_ Jaskier.” Geralt demands, fisting his hands in Jaskier’s hair, and angling his head to attack at his bared throat.

Jaskier’s pulse jumps beneath Geralt’s tongue and his thrust grow harder, more intense. He drops a hand to press against the ground beside Geralt’s head, and the new leverage allows Jaskier an angle that pulls a long, breathy moan from the Witcher beneath him.

Jaskier huffs out a laugh at his reaction and croons into his ear, “How can I resist when you ask so prettily?”

Despite his propensity to tease, Jaskier now finds a relentless pace, thrusting in earnest, and it’s all Geralt can do to just cling on and not lose his mind. There is _definitely_ something to be said about being fucked by another Witcher, (maybe specifically _this_ Witcher), to which a quick fuck with a stranger on the path, or a whore in some brothel could just never hope to compare.

Geralt’s grip loosens slightly to allow Jaskier to trail more biting kisses down the curve of his neck and shoulder, interspersed with the sounds of his own salacious, though somewhat muffled, moaning. Jaskier’s recently injured arm bears no weight, but Jaskier still makes good use of it, unwinding his fingers from the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck to slip between their bodies and take hold of Geralt’s cock.

The contact has him shaking, hands gripping at Jaskier’s shoulders (the injured one as gently as he can manage) and cursing under his breath with every slam of Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier’s forehead has dropped to rest on rest on the hard edge of Geralt’s collarbone, and Geralt’s own head is thrown back, both of them with eyes pressed tightly shut against the cresting pleasure.

It’s Geralt who tips over the edge first, finding his release while caught between the unrelenting thrusts of Jaskier’s hips and hot slide of his hand. His body curves inward on itself, and then arches up as it contorts with the climax, seed spilling between them and mixing with the sweat on both of their skin.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt once again whines out, the sensation bordering on painful as Jaskier continues, hand leaving Geralt’s cock for a bruising grip at his hip to adjust for the loss of his steady rhythm.

Jaskier collects one last _hard_ kiss, leaving a painful bite to Geralt’s bottom lip before giving a few final, punishing thrusts and coming with a growling moan, pulsing hot and slick into Geralt.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing and the steady pumps of their hearts, fast for a couple of Witchers, the feel of skin against skin, sticky with sweat and come.

“Fuck,” Jaskier eventually remarks with a breathy laugh, his forehead pressed to Geralt’s, dark hair falling to tickle at his temples.

“Mm.” Geralt agrees, trying not to give away the stars still dancing behind his eyelids, or the tingling in his extremities, with a predictable display of stoicism. Jaskier laughs harder and slaps him lightly on the shoulder, but ducks in to leave a trail of sweet kisses across Geralt’s brow as he eases out and settles beside him.

Collecting his wits ever so slightly, Geralt squints up at Jaskier propped up on his healthy arm, peering down at him, and teases. “You know, you’re not nearly so talkative with your cock in someone. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage.”

Jaskier scowls half-heartedly, the threat of a smile quivering at the corners of his mouth, his free hand moving to flick a nipple in retaliation, pulling a startled, and embarrassing, yelp from Geralt. Geralt glares up at him but sees a faint wince behind the smug satisfaction on Jaskier’s face. He reaches up to brush his fingers clumsily but gently against the faint bruising at his shoulder.

“Overdo it?” Geralt asks, feeling maybe a little guilty.

Jaskier shakes his head with a genuine smile, “It’s fine, just tender.”

“Are you sure?”

“Worrywart.” Jaskier accuses fondly.

Geralt hums and has to look away from the soft, earnest expression on Jaskier’s face, all of a sudden awkward, nervous. Two fingers brush along the line of his jaw, gently yet firmly coaxing Geralt to look back at him.

“None of that now, _you_ started this.” Jaskier chastises, catching Geralt’s gaze and holding him there. “You’ve already played your hand, wolf, you can’t very well take it back now.”

Jaskier’s smile is a little wry, but the amusement in his eyes is genuine. He plants a kiss on Geralt’s lips so tender it leaves him aching and pulls away to murmur softly into his ear. “You _care_ about me, Geralt of Rivia.”

Instinct wars in him to deny it, or maybe flee, but he wrests control over himself enough to give a convincing(ish) scoff and a roll of his eyes as he pushes away the smug Witcher. Jaskier lands sprawled on his back beside him, doing a terrible job of holding back his laughter.

Geralt feels himself smiling back, just a little, and closes his eyes against the growing light of dawn, the litany of birdsong previously _thoroughly_ drowned out, now loud and insistent in his ears.

“Don’t you go to sleep on me, _kocimiętka,_ ” Jaskier berates him again, poking him unpleasantly in the rib. “You’ve still got to help me repair my armour that you’ve ruined.”

Geralt huffs and lets his head fall to the side to give Jaskier a scathing look. The Cat is wearing his trademark wicked smirk, and his hand still hovers at Geralt’s side, tickling more than soothing over the spot he’d just jabbed.

“Do you have somewhere to be, _tojad_?” Geralt asks and catches Jaskier’s hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips. He plants featherlight kisses to the knuckles, fingertips, palm, wrist, until he hears the catch in Jaskier’s breathing, sees his pupils blow wide.

“I suppose not,” Jaskier says, definitely aiming for nonchalance and landing much closer to just breathless.

“Glad to hear it.” Geralt bares his teeth in a wolfish grin and in a smooth, swift motion rolls to hover over Jaskier, straddling his hips and pinning him in a crushing, hungry kiss Jaskier returns just as fervently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I've actually started planning a series of short stories for this 'verse involving any and all Cat Witcher ships (we'll see how I go)  
> So far the plan for the next installment is Cat Witcher!Yennefer/Triss and some recreational "catnip" use - so if that's your thing, stay tuned, or if you have suggestions or requests, drop me a line!! 💞💞

**Author's Note:**

> "Tojad" is the Polish for Wolfsbane or aconite, and I figure Geralt has been calling Jaskier this for a little while now  
> "Kocimiętka" is the Polish for catnip/catmint and Jaskier is trying it on for size (I think he and Geralt like it, how about you?)


End file.
